


Do the Brave Thing

by Crysania



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8929882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: Written for the RSS 2016 to the prompt "I thought I saw you." Belle moves to Storybrooke and everything begins to change.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufeepeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/gifts).



Storybrooke, Maine is a small town. And like most small towns in America, things rarely change. Granny’s Diner opens at precisely 5:00am in the morning and the first stragglers make their way in shortly thereafter, eyes bleary and ready for her coffee. They reach for it with grasping hands and a grunt of thanks. It’s not the best coffee in the world. In fact, it’s downright horrible. But it’s what’s there and it’s what they get and they’re thankful for that, even if they're not exactly happy about it.

The mayor is always difficult woman and Archie, the town psychiatrist will always stammer over his words if he’s not in the middle of a therapy session. The pharmacy closes no later than 10:00pm and Clark, the owner, is guaranteed to sneeze at least _once_ during your attempt to check out.

And Mr. Gold? He owns most of the town, but no one has ever seen him. There are rumors of course. Granny, who claims to be older than dirt, says she remembers him as a child but everyone is sure that’s just a falsehood. She’ll shout you down though if you dare accuse her of lying and so most just accept it with good grace while mumbling behind her back. No one has seen Gold, not even Granny, they assure each other. And their descriptions of him range from goblin to ogre to hideously disfigured ghoul. Some jokingly call him the “Phantom of Storybrooke” but quickly shut up when Granny glares them into submission.

They all owe him money, so it’s easy to think poorly of him, so very easy to hate him, even though none actually _know_ him. Dove, a hulking ogre of a man himself, comes to collect their rent. He speaks little and refuses to say anything about his employer, though many have questioned him over the years.

Mr. Gold, first name unknown, is a specter, a ghost to scare their children with, and most cross the street before getting anywhere near his mansion on the outskirts of town.

Everything changes the day Belle French rolls into town. She’s a tiny little thing and as she strolls down the sidewalk, smile on her face and blue eyes bright, people can’t help but be warmed a little by her. No one has seen _her_ before, but there she is, greeting the townspeople as if she’s always been there.

_She hasn’t, has she?_ they ask each other and quickly assure themselves she’s new.

A few women stop to question her and she is only too happy to converse. She’s new to town you see. Her mother has passed on and her father, long estranged from her beloved mother, is the town florist. She’s there to see him. And she loves their little town. It's quaint, sweet, just as she expected a small town to be.

But what room is there for a woman like Belle French? She’s no small town girl. She grew up in the big city, in _Australia_. Her accent marks her as foreign and her sunny disposition tells everyone in their backwater little town that she doesn’t belong. They can’t help but love her though. How could you not? She talks to everyone as if they _matter_.

And she doesn’t cross the street in front of Gold’s place.

She’s seated in Granny’s that day, perched rather precariously on one of the stools, legs linked around it to keep her tiny form up high on the seat. She leans over to the man next to her. “They’re clearly not meant for short people.” And she laughs. He looks startled for a moment, glances around, and then finally nods.

“What can I do you for?” Granny approaches her with a half-smile in place.

“Just tea, if you have it.” Belle’s smile is huge and Granny seems a little disconcerted for a moment before rushing off to gather up the tea things. No one asks for tea. But she has such things ready. Just in case.

“What do you think of our little town?”

Belle glances up to find the waitress watching her. The young woman’s eyes are dark and there’s evidence of some hardship there. She’s seen a lot. But the side of her mouth is tilted up and she looks friendly enough. Belle is, really, not all that used to friendly. She’s always been sunny, happy, but living in the big city makes you hesitant to approach people even in the best of times. And Storybrooke, Maine seems like a close-knit town, secrets well hidden from what few outsiders come through.

And she knows from the way they all eye her that she is the first in a long time.

“It’s…” She pauses there. How _does_ one say quaint without making it sound condescending? She doesn’t _want_ to sound that way, doesn’t even think it. Quaint is good. She needs a change from the bustle of the big city. She needs to quiet her mind and slow down.

“Yeah,” the woman answers with before Belle has a chance to finish the thought. Her name is Ruby, she realizes, as she notices the name tag hanging from the corner of her too tight shirt. “It’s…” She offers another quirky smile before starting to turn away.

“I like it.” The words tumble out of her mouth. “It’s quiet.” _There_ was the word she was looking for. Ruby turns back toward her and she feels her cheeks warm just a bit. “I need that,” she offers rather uselessly really.

“What’s your story?” Ruby leans forward as she speaks, rests her arms on the counter.

“My story?”

“Everyone has a story,” Ruby points out. Belle supposes she does. It’s just that it’s not a very interesting one.

“My mother,” she starts with, pauses. What more can she say? “She died,” she finally gets out. It still doesn’t feel real. Her mother’s number is still stored in her cell phone. Sometimes she hits the speed dial and listens to her voice on the message. She was cheery, much like Belle. Sweet and kind. Everything she _is_ she learned from her mother.

And now she's gone.

And now Belle's here.

Starting over.

_I wasn't ready for this_ …

"Oh," Ruby says and Belle's eyes refocus on her. "I'm sorry."

"Stop bothering the girl," Granny says as she comes up behind Ruby and swats her lightly on the arm. "Get back to work."

Ruby grimaces. “Gotta go, sorry.” And then she disappears in the back.

“Never you mind her,” Granny says, leaning over the counter a bit. There’s a sympathetic look on her face and Belle wants to turn away from the scrutiny. She’s had enough _I’m so sorries_ for a lifetime, thank you very much. But Granny doesn’t offer that. Instead she pushes a mug of something across the table at her. “Hot cocoa.” Her voice is a little gruff. She’s seen loss in her life. Belle is sure of it. “It helps.”

She turned to leave but Belle leans forward suddenly. “Wait…”

“The tea will be up soon," the older woman says, her voice gruff.

"No that's not it. Just…"

"Yes?” Granny’s eyes are kind, concerned.

She starts to say thank you but the look in Granny’s eyes tell her not to even think about it. They take care of their own in Storybrooke and she may be an outsider, but she’s still their own for a time. “Is there…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m living with my father right now. Is there some listing of flats to rent in town?”

“Hold on a sec.” She disappears in the back for a moment. Belle hears Ruby say something incoherent, but there’s worry in the young woman’s voice. She would be more worried but Granny is smiling when she comes back. “Ruby’s a little off today,” she comments before handing her a piece of paper.

Belle glances down. “What is this?”

“Mr. Gold,” Granny says. It’s not much of an explanation. “He owns the town.”

Belle’s eyebrows shoot up, almost involuntarily. “The whole town?” It’s small, she knows. She walked it from end to end during her first few days there. But still…

“Most of it.” There’s an odd look in her eyes. “He doesn’t like phone calls, see.” She points to the piece of paper. “That’s his e-mail address.”

“No phone calls?”

“No. And you’re not likely to see him either. He lives in that big mansion on the outskirts of town…"

"The pink one?" The one everyone avoids, she wants to say. She sees them as they carefully cross the road, almost as if it's second nature. No one spares it a glance anymore, they just do what comes naturally. A few stopped to watch her as she walked directly in front of it, one person looking like they wanted to pull her back, warn her about _something_. But it's a perfectly _nice_ house. Large, well taken care of.

"That's the one," Granny says and shudders. "Just you mind to stay away from it and don't expect to see the man and you'll be fine." She gives Belle one final long look before disappearing in the back again. This time she doesn't return and Belle's left with just a piece of paper and a sinking feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises.com  
Subject: ~~Flat~~ ~~Apartment~~ Housing**

This is ridiculous. Who e-mails for housing anyway?

**Mr. Gold,**

**I have recently moved to ~~Storybrooke, Maine~~ town and am ~~currently living with my father~~ **

She shakes her head. _God, that makes me sound like such a child_ …

**Mr. Gold,**

**I have recently moved to town and am in need of a place to live. I was given your e-mail address by ~~Granny~~ the nice woman who works at the diner. She said this was the best way to contact you or else I would never just send you an e-mail. But if you could get in touch, please, and tell me what's available and at what price, I would greatly appreciate it. You can reach me here or on my cell at 773-487-0758.**

**Sincerely,  
Belle French**

 

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Housing**

**Ms. French,**

**Attached please find the listings for three properties that are currently available. When you have had the time to peruse the information, you may contact my assistant, Dove. He can be reached at 207-409-4441.**

**Mr. Gold**

She glances down at the entirely impersonal note and the attachments. _That's it?_ It was entirely aloof, not a hint of _welcome to the town_ in the message. Just…contact Dove. _Dove? Who names someone Dove, anyway?_ Shaking her head, she downloads the attachments for the three locations.

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Housing**

**Mr. Gold,**

**I am very interested in the flat that sits at the top of the library. Can you tell me more about it?**

**Sincerely, Belle French**

\---

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Housing**

**I think you have all the information you need, dearie. It's just below the clock tower on top of the library (closed for many years). It's private with its own entrance at the back of the library, one bedroom, one full bath. The kitchen is, as you can see, regrettably small, but everything is in working order. Please contact Dove if you would like a walk through.**

**Sincerely,  
Mr. Gold**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Housing**

**Why is the library closed?**

**Belle**

\---

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Housing**

**That would be a question for the mayor, dearie, not I. Shall I tell Dove to expect your call?**

**Sincerely,  
Mr. Gold**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises  
Subject: This subject is getting ridiculous**

**Why can't you show me?**

**Belle**

\---

There's no answer to her last e-mail and she remembers Granny's telling her no one has seen the man in years. He's almost a ghost in their little town, really, and the way people avoid his house makes her wonder if he's even _real_. Maybe this _Dove_ person is really Mr. Gold and is playing everyone. Maybe Mr. Gold is buried out in the backyard, or his mummified remains are hidden in the attic.

She lets out a small bark of laughter at that last one. Her mind always did run away with her. She can still hear her mother’s voice in her head, the clear bell of her laughter. Belle’s flights of fancy were well known, but her mother had only herself to blame, really. She was the one who read her stories of great adventures and gave her the life-long love of books she has.

With a small shake of her head, she picks up her phone and calls Dove. She loves her father, but the sooner she’s out on her own, the sooner she can breathe a little easier.

* * *

She moves into the library apartment just a week before she manages to track down the mayor about the library. It wasn’t an easy task. But she’s gotten an audience with her. Gold has, somehow, become her champion.

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: The Mayor**

**Now just remember, dearie, she’s like that with everyone. I know you’re wondering what I mean by that, but you’ll see.**

**She has a 10-year-old son. Henry. Use that.**

**Sincerely,  
Mr. Gold**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises  
Subject: Re: The Mayor**

**Seriously? You want me to use her *son*? Isn’t that going too far?**

**Belle**

\---

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: The Mayor**

**Of course not. Children need to read. And from what I have heard, Henry cannot read the books he gets at school fast enough. USE THAT. It will do you well.**

**Gold**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: The Mayor**

**Why are you helping me?**

\---

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: The Mayor**

**Why shouldn’t I?**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: The Mayor**

**Because...oh never mind!**

_Insufferable man…_

 

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: The Mayor**

**Exactly.**

 

He says nothing more and so she doesn’t respond. What more is there to say? She needs to meet with the mayor. The library has become almost an obsession. It’s been closed, so they say, for nigh on twenty years. The last librarian died in her seat, the crotchety old thing, found there by a group of children. No foul play. But still, the library was closed up tight after that and no one has ever thought to reopen it.

They miss it though. Some of the older folks’ eyes brightened when she asked about it, sharing stories of their childhood school trips to the place. The books are all still there, they tell her. Collecting dust inside a sealed box. She’s determined to free them.

Of course, things don’t go quite so well with the mayor. She has tight control over her little town.

“Just who _are_ you Miss French?” The woman’s eyes are slightly narrowed and there’s a pinched look around her mouth.

“My father…” she starts to say but Regina Mills simply crosses her arms and leans back. “Your son.” Her voice is weak. Far weaker than she intends. _Do the brave thing._ She takes a deep breath. “Wouldn’t he want the library to open?”

“Miss French, exactly what do you know of my son?” Her voice is tight.

_Do the brave thing and bravery will follow_. The words are like a mantra in her mind. Her mother’s voice, repeated over and over again. _Do the brave thing…Do the brave thing_ …She’s never quite been sure if that’s true but it’s helped her throughout the years. She hopes it will help her now.

“I’ve heard people talking about what a bright boy he is.” She notices a small shift in the mayor’s body, a little bit of a softening of her posture. “Ruby…at the diner?...she says he’s blown through all the books he wants to read in the school library…” She trails off there.

The mayor watches her for a moment. “I will consider it,” she finally says and turns back to her paperwork.

Belle knows when she’s been dismissed. There’s a chance, at least.

* * *

The doorbell rings. It’s a ratty sounding thing, as if it’s been hit so many times that it’s simply _exhausted_. She rather thinks it sounds like a dying cow, but she hasn’t bothered to get it fixed.  With a sigh she steps to the door and not for the first time wishes there was some sort of peep hole.

She half hopes it’s Mr. Gold.

Well, perhaps more than half hopes. The man is an enigma. He writes to her affably enough, sometimes with the flimsiest of excuses, but he still seems to be a ghost. She thinks she must see him sometimes. The tall older gentleman in the store who watches her through hooded eyes. Maybe the quiet middle-aged man at the pharmacy. His eyes barely pass over her, but she wonders. _Is that him?_ Surely she’s seen him. Somewhere, out walking the streets.

It’s not Gold at the door though. It’s the Mayor and Belle’s eyebrows shoot up without her even thinking about it. “Mayor Mills,” she starts to say but gets nothing out before the woman pushes past her.

“You have strange allies in this town, Miss French,” the mayor says. There’s _almost_ respect there. But not quite. Belle is quite sure the mayor has no respect for anyone.

“Allies?”

The mayor turns back toward her and there’s something there in her eyes. Predatory. Just a little bit angry.

“Mr. Gold.” The name is dropped into the quiet of the room like a silent bomb.

“He came to see you?” She tries stifle the excitement she feels at that prospect. _What does he look like? What is he like?_

“Hardly,” the mayor responds with and there’s a strange sort of suspicious lurking in her eyes. “Mr. Gold hasn’t been seen since his son died.”

“His son?” Belle feels her heart clench.

“You didn’t know?” The mayor looks her up and down for a moment. “His son was killed. By his own mother no less. Mr. Gold retreated to his little house…”

“It’s not so little,” Belle can’t help but mutter.

“His _little_ house…he hasn’t left since,” she finishes.

_You haven’t seen him_ , Belle realizes. Because he’s never been there. He’s just a ghost inside her computer.  _His son_ …

The mayor smiles at that. “I’m here to give you these.” A bit of a non-sequitur.  Belle looks at the keys the mayor has tossed on her shabby kitchen table. It’s second hand. Everything in the apartment is.

Picking up the keys, she glances at the mayor and shakes her head slightly. “And these are…”

“Oh so he hasn’t told you?” She’s enjoying this, Belle realizes. The mayor is clearly someone who enjoys power, wielding it like a knife. She sticks the point in whenever she gets a chance, draws blood, and smiles. 

“I don’t exactly have…”

“These are the keys to the library. You have one week to get it ready before it opens.” And then she’s gone, almost as if she wasn’t there.

But Belle is left holding keys. _To the library._ The mayor didn’t discuss payment. Did it even matter? She had a home. And a job.

* * *

It requires a week of hard work, hard labor, to get the library even close to up to snuff. The place is a dusty mess, but _oh_ the books. It’s slightly out of date, but glorious nonetheless. Belle has no idea how they could ever have come to close the place up. Who was it that shut the door that final time, heard the key turn in the lock, walked away?

She’s absolutely knackered when she crawls back to her apartment above the library every night. But for some reason, she takes the time to write to Mr. Gold.

 

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises.com  
Subject: Long day**

**Long day today. The library is set to open tomorrow morning. I’m not sure it’s quite ready, but it’s cleaner and better organized than it was before I started. I hope there will be people there for the big grand re-opening.**

**Belle**

\---

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Long day**

**There will be people there. I’ll make sure of it.**

**Gold**

\---

**To: "Mr. Gold" mrgold@goldenterprises.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Long day**

**I would really prefer you don’t do anything drastic to anyone. If they show, they show.**

**Are you going to be there?**

**Belle**

\---

She almost doesn’t add the last part. She knows the answer, of course. It’s been told her by everyone in town multiple times. Not that she’s admitted she regularly e-mails with him. She’s not sure what they would think of her if they knew that. She gets the impression he’s not _liked_ , may even be hated. Only the mayor speaks of him with any respect and then it’s grudging, pulled from her in moments of calculation.

Gold doesn’t respond for a long time and then the message is terse.

 

**To: "Belle French" librarychic@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Long day**

**Good luck tomorrow.**

 

The green dot next to his name goes grey and she knows he’s signed off. She has her answer. He’s not coming. She doesn’t know why she would have expected any different.

* * *

“This went great.”

Belle looks up to see Ruby coming up to where she sits behind the counter. Belle doesn’t remember _ever_ being this tired, but here she is, slumped in a stool barely able to keep herself upright.

People came.

Library cards were given out.

Books went on their way to their new temporary homes.

She's sure she sees Gold in every person who's there. He could have been the quiet young man sitting off to the side, observing. Or the elderly gentleman who watches the goings-on with a sad smile lifting one side of his mouth. Dove is not there and she wonders _again_ if _he_ is Mr. Gold. Hiding in public. It was an idea worthy of a bad movie, but still the idea was there. Stuck somewhere inside her mind.

"It did, didn't it?" She feels pride at what she has accomplished. People want the library, they care about it. None more than little Henry who was absolutely ecstatic at all the new books to read. He'd left with ten. The maximum. With the mayor trailing after him rather indulgently.

"You seem sad," Ruby offers and there's compassion in her voice.

"Tired, mostly," Belle responds with. "It's been a long day." She gives a small huff of laughter. "And an even longer week."

Ruby eyes her up and down. "There's something else…"

"There's just…" She pauses, not sure what to say. "Nevermind."

"No what is it?" Ruby asks and she sounds almost excited, conspiratorial. It's not like Belle knows her well. She chats with her on occasion at the diner. She's always friendly, always interested in the day to day things going on in her life. But this? This is just…

Weird.

"I was hoping someone would show up…" She lets the words trail off.

Ruby's eyes light up. "A guy?"

"No…I mean…well…yes. But I didn't think he'd come." She throws her hands in the air. "It's useless," she exclaims. "Why don’t you just head on home, Ruby? I'm just going to close up and head upstairs for a long soak and a good book."

"Are you sure?" Ruby looks concerned and Belle knows she's wracking her brain, trying to figure out _who_ this mystery guy might be. It's not like she'd believe her if she told her. And she's certainly not ready to tell anyone that she has a…what?...crush?...on the mysterious and inaccessible Mr. Gold. A man she has never met face to face, who is nothing more at the moment than writing on a computer screen.

"Yeah I'm sure. I know you have an early day at the diner tomorrow."

Ruby rolls her eyes but reaches over and squeezes Belle's arm briefly. "If you ever need to talk…" And then she's gone. Belle can hear the click of her heels across the floor and the door opening and closing.

And she's alone.

Blessedly, wonderfully alone.

It's not that she doesn't love people. She does. In small doses and then she can go home and relax into a good book.

She's about to turn off the last light before heading up the stairs to her apartment above the library when she hears a slight rustle. It comes from somewhere between the stacks, just the shuffle of a foot against the floor, followed by a small tapping noise, as if someone has hit something sharp on the ground. She's sure she sees something there, hidden in the shadows.

There are moments, Belle realizes, when you make the big decisions. They don't _seem_ big. Time will attest to that. But she has two choices right then. Turn out the light and go upstairs, ignore whatever noise she heard.

Or stay.

And wait.

_Do the brave thing_ …

"Hello?" she finally says. Her hand is still on the doorknob, her fingers hovering over the light switch. She can still turn and rush up the stairs, block whatever is making that noise out of her life. But she doesn't.

She watches as something emerges from the shadows. She doesn’t see much at first, just a slim outline, longer hair. The person is holding something long and thin in their hands and for a moment she thinks maybe it really is a better idea to race up the stairs and lock her door.

But then he steps out into the meager light that’s still in the room. Shadows fall on his face, but she can still see his eyes. Brown, she thinks. Slightly wider than she’d expected. There’s a furrow between his brows and his face is lined, careworn. As he takes another step forward, she realizes the long slender object he’s holding is a cane. He leans heavily on it. It’s not affection, not with the way his hands grip it hard and he stumbles just slightly as he steps forward.

“Hey.” His voice is rusty from disuse and she wonders when the last time he spoke to anyone was.

She stays where she is, one hand still holding tight to the door frame. “Mr. Gold?” She hopes. She’ll feel foolish if it’s not him, if it's just some random guy who got locked in when she closed the place up.

"Tiernan, actually," he says and she realizes he has an accent. He's not American. It's strange, really. She's heard his voice in her head through all their exchanges and she's been in the country just long enough that she imaged him with a more Americanized accent. "Tiernan Gold." The last is said unnecessarily. She knows who he is.

"Belle," she says and bites her lower lip. She's not sure what else to say.

He takes a deep breath. "Of course. Miss… _Belle_ …" He stops talking there and she wants to laugh. This isn't how it went in her head. No, there it was all confidence, meeting in the aisles of the grocery store. Or a quiet conversation at the diner. Not this strange, halting conversation.

_But he’s here_. And he’s no longer a figment of her imagination, someone she thinks she sees disappearing around the corner just before she can get there.

"Would you…" She clears her throat. "Would you like to come up?" She gestures toward the stairs, the door still open behind her.

He says nothing for a moment, but then gestures with his cane.

"Right. The stairs." She starts to suck her lower lip back into her mouth but stops. Her mother used to always admonish her to just _stop that_ and she can still hear her in her head. "This is awkward."

"I should go," he says and gestures toward the door.

Belle finally moves from her spot, taking a few steps further into the room. "No please, don’t." She holds up her hands. "I was hoping you would come."

"This is the first time," he says.

"Well, it's my first library opening, so I suppose it's a first for everyone." The words are just a shade too bright.

"No," he says. "Nevermind."

"I could get some tea?" She's an idiot. She's sure of it. She wants to talk to him, to feel that accent flow over her. She needs to keep him talking and she doesn't even know why. Now, seeing him face to face, she finds she's even more drawn to him. He's different than she expected. More awkward, quieter, smaller somehow. "We could have it down here. Look…" She steps toward the little sitting area, turning on the light and pushing the magazines to one side of the table. "We could sit here. And talk?"

_Keep him here_ …

"Alright," he says at last and moves closer to her. He walks stiffly, favoring his right foot, which is turned out oddly at the ankle. She wants to ask what happened but stops herself. She's always been too curious for her own good.

“I’ll be right back down.” She takes a deep breath and races up the stairs. It takes approximately five minutes for the water to boil. She knows this well from experience. That gives her just enough time to try to freshen up. Brush her teeth, run a brush through her hair. Why it matters, she can’t even say. But there’s _something_. A sort of tension in the air, awkward and yet fragile as glass.

The mayor told her he hasn’t left his home. Not since his…

_Oh…_

Not since his son died. She doesn’t know the story there. She’s never felt comfortable asking anyone. It’s his story to tell. And maybe…well, maybe in time he’ll want to tell her.

_He came out Belle…for you…_

The tea is ready before she feels quite prepared to go back down, but she takes a deep breath anyway. He could be gone, melting back into the shadows he had come out of. Perhaps she had simply _willed_ him into existence.

But no…

When she emerges into the room he is sitting in one of the chairs. The cane he’s holding moves back and forth, left hand to right back to left. His shoulders are slightly hunched and as she moves closer he jumps just slightly. “I’m…” He offers her a small crooked smile and she feels her heart flip. “I’m not used to people.”

She sets the tea down and tries hard not to analyze her response. She’s not so good at that really. Letting go, living in the moment. She lives in the past and the future. The present has always been a struggle. Nose in a book, head in the clouds, that’s what her father always used to say.

“I’m not either…really.”

He leans forward at her admission and there’s a sort of intensity there, the way his mouth is set and his eyes bore into hers. “Really?”

Without thinking, she puts her hand on his knee and is surprised when he jerks suddenly. The sound of the cane hitting the ground is loud in the stillness of the library and for a moment she watches as it rolls away from him. Then she's up and kneeling on the ground, pulling it up to hand it to him.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs as he pulls it to himself.

He stands up suddenly. "This was a mistake…"

"Wait, no." She puts her hand back out and lightly touches his arm. This time he doesn't move away but she can see him tense. Feral, like a wild animal. She's not sure he's had any human contact in a long time. "Please." She shakes her head. "I'm saying that a lot lately, aren't I?" She's pleased to see a small smile ghost over his face. "This wasn't a mistake. It can't be."

"I don't understand."

She leans closer. He's not that much taller than her, she realizes, especially when she has her heels on. It's a new sensation, one she finds she really likes. She _hates_ craning her neck to look up at people and men always seem to find her _cute_ , as if she's their favorite toy poodle and not an actual human being. "Do you feel it?"

For a moment his eyebrows draw low but then the expression clears. "I came out of my house for you," he whispers. "Because you wanted me here."

She nods. "Yes. Yes I did want you here."

"Why?"

"Do you feel it?" she repeats instead.

He sighs as her hand comes up to touch his cheek. Just a light touch of her fingers to the roughened skin there. "Yes," he finally says.

"That's why." She removes her hand then but he continues to watch her, frozen for a moment.

His shoulders finally fall slightly and he turns away. She follows as he makes his slow, halting away across the library. It's dark there, by the door. His face is shadowed as he turns back to her for just a moment.

She reaches around him to put her hand on the doorknob. "Will I see you again?"

His eyes meet her for only a moment, then he looks away, fiddling with his cane. She almost pushes the door open, lets him out. She doesn't think he'll answer. This has taken much out of him, coming out, even into the dark of night, hidden somewhere in a closed up library. It's _too much_.  She's afraid that _she_ is too much.

She sighs. "I understand," she finally says. "I'm glad you came out, even if…"

"Have you ever had a hamburger?"

She stops talking at the odd question. "I…um…yes?" She may not be American, but it's not like they didn't have such a thing in Australia.

"I haven't had one in such a long time and I hear Granny's makes a great one." There's a sad smile on his face. "I thought maybe…" He clears his throat. "Maybe you'd like to pick up on and come over some time?"

"Like a date?" The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them. She stares at him wide-eyed, waiting for him to run, slip out the door and never be seen again.

He's silent for a moment and she can see a muscle in his jaw twitch. But she finally sees the tension drain out of him.. "Yes. Yes like a date." He doesn't seem offended at least.

"I'd like that very much." She leans up on her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. The skin there is a little rough, but warm, and as she pulls away she watches as he touches his fingers to the place her lips just were.

A moment later, he slips out the door. It shuts almost noiselessly behind him and Belle turns the key in the lock. She watches through the window until he's turned the corner and then, finally leans up against the door, her cheek on the cool metal.

She has a date. With Mr. Gold. _Tiernan_ , she reminds herself. And suddenly everything is looking up in the world. Her mother always told her to do the brave thing and bravery will follow. And it does. Somehow she just knows this is the beginning of something amazing.


End file.
